The Death of Distant Stars, A Legal Thriller

by Deborah Hawkins

  “Your Honor, the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure–”

  “Provide for discovery, Mr. McLaren, of the plaintiff’s evidence. And I think you’ve had plenty of discovery. Motion denied.”

  Hugh breathed a sigh of relief. He looked over at Kathryn, who was sitting next to Joe in the seat that Hugh usually occupied, and smiled. She smiled back, and his old-man’s heart lit up with joy at the victory they’d shared. He noticed the slight bulge of the shoulder holster under Joe’s rumpled navy suit coat. The bailiffs had let him bring the gun into the courtroom to protect Aimée only because he was an ex cop. Anyone else would have been told to leave the weapon at the door. Hugh reminded himself to see that Joe got a raise.

  All morning, in her beautiful accent, Dr. Girard answered Mark’s questions, explaining the development of Myrabin. She discussed the formulas the Vannier research team had tried, the effects they’d observed in animal studies, and their recommendation to give up on the Myrabin prototype.

  “So in your opinion it was not safe and could not be made safe?” Mark asked her just before they broke for lunch.

  “That is correct. In a high percentage of the population, the liver processes the drug so that it becomes toxic and destroys that organ.”

  After lunch, Bob McLaren began his cross-examination. His efforts to discredit the French team’s work became personal after a while. Mark objected repeatedly to questions about Dr. Girard’s marriage and about the alleged affair with Maurice Vannier.

  To her credit, Aimée never lost her French cool, shrugging often at some of the more ridiculous questions.

  Hugh’s phone vibrated at two thirty. It as an email from Jose. “Mr. Hugh. Dr. O’Connor not on airplane. I ask airline to be sure. He never got on at Dulles. What should I do?”

  Hugh emailed back, “Come to the courthouse and wait to drive Dr. Girard to the airport to catch the private jet back to Stanford.”

  As soon as Judge Weiner declared the afternoon break, he found a secure spot where he could call Logan.

  “Knew you were missing me,” she said. “Sorry, I’m taken. Travis asked me last night. Five caret diamond that will blind you.”

  “Congratulations. But that’s not why I called. Harrison O’Connor never got on that plane. Jose was there to meet the flight.”

  “I’ll get Leon to run a check on the police reports. I’ll call you back as soon as he lets me know what he finds.”

  “Okay.” Hugh paced the hall, hoping the firm’s D.C. investigator, Leon Abramowitz, could answer the mystery of what happened to Harrison.

  Ten minutes later, Hugh’s phone rang, and he saw it was Logan. “So what did you find out?”

  “Harrison is dead.”

  “What?”

  “Last night around one a.m. He hanged himself. His colleague, Mary Lancaster, called the police and asked them to do a welfare check.”

  “But why, then, did he contact us and want to testify if he was just planning to kill himself?”

  “No idea.”

  “I don’t think this was a suicide.”

  “Maybe not, but you have no proof it was murder.”

  “He was about to reveal the existence of the FDA’s secret database where six hundred post-approval Myrabin deaths are hidden. He would have taken down one of Wycliffe’s most profitable drugs if he had testified. He didn’t hang himself. He was murdered.”

  “And now you don’t have anyone to undo Rick’s mess.”

  * * *

  At three, Judge Weiner excused Dr. Girard as a witness. Jose drove her to the airport, accompanied by Joe Saunders and his Glock, where the private jet Hugh had chartered was waiting. Since Mark did not have another witness to call that afternoon, Judge Weiner recessed the proceedings early; and the Goldstein, Miller contingent, including Kathryn, headed back to the conference room at the firm to talk over the day’s events.

  * * *

  The wine and scotch flowed freely. Everyone except Hugh thought they were celebrating Dr. Girard’s triumph on the witness stand. Only Kathryn, who eyed him warily from time to time, seemed to sense something was wrong.

  At five-thirty Logan texted him a picture of her hefty engagement ring and a message, “Call Mary Lancaster, ASAP.”

  Hugh went out into the hall and dialed the number. A frightened female voice answered. “Hello? Is this Hugh Mahoney?”

  “Yes, it is. Mary Lancaster?” The name was familiar, but he was struggling to remember the contact.

  “Dr. Mary Lancaster. I was a member of the Myrabin team with Harrison.”

  “Oh, my God. Of course. Sorry. I remember.”

  “Listen, Mr. Mahoney, I want to testify in Harrison’s place. They murdered him. I told Harrison I didn’t want to get involved. It was bad enough being followed everywhere. But now I have to do this for him. I also had access to the database where those post-approval death numbers were hidden. Harrison and I inputted the reports when they came in. Then they disappeared. He and I decided to find out what happened to them after you came around asking questions. Harrison and I both have personal knowledge of the cover-up. I can testify in his place.”

  “How do you know he was murdered?”

  “Because he called me last night. Two men had broken into his house. He was hiding in a closet. He guessed they had followed him to the bar where he met that lawyer from your firm, the one who gave him the plane ticket. He heard them say they had to make it look like suicide. He told me to get out of my house and hide because they said they were coming after me next. He saved my life, Mr. Mahoney. I have to testify for him.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m hiding in a Motel 6 in Bethesda. I’m not safe.”

  “No, you’re not. Listen Mary, I’m going to have our D.C. investigator, Leon Abramowitz, come out there and drive you to our D.C. office where you’ll be safe. I’ve got a private jet in the air right now taking today’s witness home to Stanford. Our San Diego investigator, Joe Saunders, is on board. I’m going to have the jet refuel in San Jose and then come for you in DC. Joe, who has a permit to carry a weapon, will accompany you to San Diego, and you’ll stay at my house. Are you okay with that?”

  “I am, Mr. Mahoney.”

  “Hugh. Call me Hugh.”

  As soon as he hung up, he called Leon.

  “What’s up boss?”

  “We’ve got a critical witness hiding at a Motel 6 in Bethesda. Her name is Mary Lancaster. Go get her and take her to the D.C. office and stay with her until Joe and the jet arrive to bring her here. It’ll be a long night because they just landed in San Jose, and Joe has got to see Aimée Girard home safely before he can leave for D.C.”

  “No problem, boss. I’ll text you when she is safely in our office.”

  * * *

  Hugh went back to the conference room and stood in the doorway watching Kathryn laugh with Mark and Patty and Stewart. Aimée’s testimony had left them all feeling triumphant; but, as any seasoned litigator knows, things can go south in a heartbeat during trial. Killing off witnesses was an act of desperation. If Wycliffe was that desperate, Kathryn wasn’t safe. At that moment, her eyes met his, and he motioned for her to meet him in the hallway.

  “What’s happened?” she asked.

  He told her about Harrison O’Connor and Mary Lancaster. “And you’re not safe, either.”

  “They’ve already tried to kill me.”

  “Third time’s the charm.”

  “They’ve already tried three times. I’ve got my Glock, and I’m a superior shot. Don’t look surprised. It was Tom’s idea because not all of our clients admire our work. Another thing Erin might want to consider before she joins us.”

  “So you’ve got it with you?”

  “Right now it’s in the car because I’m not Joe, and the bailiffs would have a fit if I tried to bring it into Judge Weiner’s courtroom. But as soon as I get in the car, it goes back in my purse. And it stays by my bed all night. Don’t worry, Hugh.”

  He fi
ngered the box in his pocket. “Come stay at Crown Manor tonight.”

  “Thanks, but no. I can feel Tom in the cottage. I want to be with him.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Tuesday, March 24, 2015, Crown Manor, Coronado, California

  Hugh’s phone rang at midnight. He had just polished off his last scotch and turned out the light. He picked up the phone in the dark and said, “Hello.”

  “It’s Joe, Hugh. I’m at Dulles.”

  “Is Dr. Lancaster with you?”

  “No, that’s why I called. They weren’t at the D.C. office when I got there, so I went out to the Motel 6 in Bethesda. But someone else had gotten there first. Dr. Lancaster and Leon are dead.”

  “What?”

  “Dr. Lancaster and Leon. Dead. I had to pick the lock to get into the room. When I saw what happened, I got out of there as fast as I could. I didn’t want to get arrested for double murder. I phoned in an anonymous tip to the cops. The place should be crawling with them right now.”

  “Okay, Joe. How soon will you be back?”

  “By morning. They’re almost done refuling the plane.”

  * * *

  As soon as Joe hung up, Hugh called Kathryn. “Sorry to wake you.”

  “I wasn’t asleep. Is something wrong?”

  “Quite a bit, actually.” He told her about Harrison and Mary. “I don’t know who’s killing our witnesses, but you’re definitely not safe there by yourself. If they kill you, the lawsuit is over; and then they don’t have to worry about our witnesses anymore.”

  “I’m fine at home.”

  “You’re in danger.”

  “I can take care of myself. Don’t worry. Good night.”

  A few seconds after she hung up, Hugh looked down at the text she’d sent him: a picture of her Glock.

  * * *

  He sighed and dialed Mark, who made a groggy noise that might have been hello.

  “Sorry to wake you. We’ve got a crisis on our hands. Come up to the house. We need to talk.”

  In ten minutes, a sleepy-eyed Mark appeared at the front door in jeans and a ratty black tee shirt. Hugh led him to his study and poured scotch for them both.

  “At four in the morning?” Mark frowned when Hugh handed him the glass.

  “At four in the morning. You’re going to need it.” He proceeded to fill Mark in on the death of Harrison O’Connor and how his desperate cross-country bid to save Mary Lancaster had failed.

  “Kathryn’s not safe!” Mark said as soon as Hugh finished.

  “I know. I told her to sleep here tonight.” He showed him the picture of her Glock that she’d sent him.

  “And you accepted that as an answer?”

  “What was I supposed to do? She’s an experienced public defender with a license for legal carry.”

  Mark was still angry, but he knew there was nothing else he could say. Instead, he turned to the immediate problem, “So who do I put on the stand tomorrow? Without Harrison or Mary, there’s no one to testify that there were any post-approval deaths.”

  “I know. We let Rick get us into a mess when we allowed him to give an opinion that there were post-approval deaths without any way to say how many. I’m afraid we’re just going to have to take our lumps and move on. Kathryn is the only witness left, and she’ll be good. The jury will forget all about Rick’s bungling after they’ve heard her story.”

  “But it’s four in the morning, and she and I haven’t had time to go over her testimony. I don’t want to put her on the stand tomorrow without warning.”

  “I know. I know. Tell Judge Weiner we had planned to have Mary here tomorrow, but tragedy intervened.”

  “You want me to say in open court that Harrison O’Connor’s death was not a suicide, and Mary and our investigator were murdered? While we know that’s true at a gut level, we have not a shred of admissible evidence to present in the morning to support our request for a continuance.”

  “That’s not true. Logan is going to email the police report as soon as she can get her hands on it through her U.S. Attorney boyfriend. Request an ex parte hearing, so you don’t have to tell the story in open court in front of McLaren.”

  “And you think Bob is going to sit still for that?”

  “He will, if the judge finds good cause to grant your request. And she will. She likes you better than McLaren. She’ll let you talk to her alone in chambers about the loss of Mary and Harrison and why we need a day to pull things together.”

  * * *

  March 24, 2015, Edward J. Schwartz Federal Courthouse, U.S. District Court, Southern District of California, San Diego

  At nine a.m., Judge Weiner took the bench, and Mark stood up. “Your Honor, I would like to request a one day continuance based upon some unforeseen circumstances that have deprived us of the witness we anticipated having here today.”

  The judge frowned. “What is this witness’ name?”

  “Dr. Mary Lancaster. She was scheduled to fly in from Washington, D.C. last night but she did not arrive. I would like a few minutes in chambers, ex parte, to explain the rest.”

  “Your Honor!” McLaren leapt to his feet, his face bright red. “There’s been no good cause shown for an ex parte hearing on the unavailability of this witness.”

  “I’ll make that determination,” Judge Weiner said “after I’ve spoken to Mr. Kelly in chambers.”

  Kathryn watched uneasily as Mark disappeared into Judge Weiner’s chambers. At the defendant’s table, Bob McLaren openly fumed in front of the puzzled jury. Bad idea, Kathryn thought, to show the jury you’re upset.

  In fifteen minutes, Mark came back and took his seat as first chair at the plaintiff’s table. A minute later, the bailiff demanded they all rise for Judge Weiner, who swept in looking unusually serious in her black robes. She turned immediately to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, no one appreciates your willingness to serve as jurors more than I do, and I am committed to doing everything in my power to make sure your service is not unduly prolonged. But I have found good cause to grant the plaintiff’s motion for a one-day continuance. I am letting you all go now, and we will resume tomorrow at nine.”

  As soon as the last juror had left, Bob McLaren stood up. “I’d like to object to this continuance, Your Honor.”

  “You’ve made your record, Mr. McLaren.” The judge’s face remained impassive, but Hugh smiled to himself. He’d been right. She didn’t like opposing counsel.

  * * *

  Mark breathed a sigh of relief as he gathered his papers and turned to leave the courtroom. Behind him, he could hear Bob McLaren venting his fury to Emma Talbert, who nodded in agreement with every bit of venom that fell from Bob’s lips.

  Hugh came up beside him as Mark started down the hall to the front door. He chuckled, “We’ve got them fuming.”

  “Yes, but you know we’ve taken a risk. On appeal, the Ninth Circuit may think Judge Weiner was wrong to allow a witness to testify whom McLaren never got to depose and that granting this continuance was unfair to Wycliffe.”

  “I don’t think that’s a bridge we should worry about crossing now,” Hugh insisted.

  Mark glanced back to make sure he could see Kathryn and Patty behind them.

  Hugh followed his worried gaze. “She’s okay.”

  “But you know she’s in as much danger as Mary Lancaster was.”

  “She’s got a Glock that she knows how to use. Mary didn’t.”

  “I’m not comfortable with that,” Mark said.

  Hugh trudged on beside him in silence and stroked the little box in his pocket. He wasn’t comfortable with it, either.

  When they reached West Broadway, Kathryn broke off from the group and announced she was turning right toward her office instead of left toward Goldstein, Miller and the Emerald Shapery Center.

  “Since we have a day off, I’ve got to go to work.”

  Hugh was immediately nervous because her gun wasn’t in her purse because she’d just come from court. But Mark preemp
ted Hugh’s plan to walk with her.

  “I’ll make sure you get there safely.”

  She smiled. “This is downtown San Diego, Mark.”

  “Yes, and a motorbike nearly ran you over in the heart of Paris.”

  Standing next to Patty waiting for the light, Hugh watched them walk away as he held on to the box in his pocket. Suddenly he felt Patty’s hand on his arm in a gesture of sympathy. He looked into her soft brown eyes and realized with a jolt that she knew his secret.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Patty said and squeezed his arm. “She’ll be okay.”

  “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t,” she smiled.

  “I know it’s impossible.”

  “You’ve asked her to join the firm. Maybe–”

  “Buffy’s on to me. She’s making me leave Goldstein, Miller after Hal is re-elected. She wants to be Madame Ambassadress to France.”

  “What about you?” Patty asked as they walked along companionably. “Do you want to be Mr. Ambassador?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course not.”

  “Then maybe it’s time to break free.”

  “Of Buffy? But she’s threatened to air all my affairs on national TV. You’ll be horribly embarrassed.”

  “No, I won’t. Bill knows all about you and me. He understands, and he doesn’t care. I doubt anyone else’s spouse would, either. The firm needs you. Don’t go.”

  * * *

  Tuesday, March 24, 2015, Office of the Public Defender, 450 “B” Street, San Diego

  Mark followed her into her building.

  “Hey, that’s far enough,” she said, turning to smile at him. “I’m here, now. I’m fine.”

  “I need to come upstairs and talk to you for a few minutes.” His gray eyes were focused intently on hers. He was in super serious mode. So she allowed him to accompany her up the elevator, through the outer area of the office to her own inner sanctum. He watched as she removed her Glock from her desk and put it in her purse. “There. You can stop worrying now. I’m safe.”